Milk Money
by HOTTERTHNU
Summary: Standalone. Young Ryan. He didn't even have enough milk money... Ryan's teacher sees something special in him.


**Milk Money**

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**Disclaimer:** McG and Josh Schwartz own the O.C., I just wish I did.

**A/N:** I originally wrote this for **Memory Lane** but it turned into such a long piece that I felt like it stood well by itself. I hope you agree, if not, tell me, and maybe I'll put it in the other story. Read and review!

"Now, class," I rapped my ruler on the desk for quiet. "Remember, next week we're raising money for families in need. You can bring in a penny, or you can bring in five dollars. Every little bit helps."

I paused, looking at the small, familiar faces in front of me. "Class dismissed."

As sighs and murmurs along the lines of 'Thank God it's the weekend' rang throughout the classroom, one boy in particular approached me.

He was small for his age; most third graders had already begun to grow. Quiet, too, he had always had respect from his classmates. His shaggy blond hair was desperately in need of a trim. It almost covered those sparkling blue eyes, the ones that told me he was too mature for his age.

"Ryan," I smiled. I felt sorry for him; sometimes he'd come in with a swollen lip or black eye. I'd brought this to the attention of the principal many times, because I'd seen the abuse of so many kids. However, nothing was ever done about it. I guess Mr. Jamison just had too much to do and the welfare of his pupils wasn't on the top of his list.

"I was wondering," Ryan kept his eyes down to the ground. I'd noticed how he rarely looked me, let alone anyone else, straight in the eye. It was almost as if he was afraid to make eye contact. "Do we have to contribute to the charity every day next week?"

There he went, with those big words, words not included in most third graders' vocabularies. "No, Ryan," I struggled to maintain eye contact with him, "Once would be just fine."

Ryan's eyes flickered to meet mine, then back down to the ground again. "Okay. Have a good weekend, Miss Barry."

I watched him run out of the classroom to meet up with his friends, and then shook my head, gathering my things.

The next week, I came in bright and early with a large white envelope marked _Student Contributions_. Although we weren't supposed to tell the students, Mr. Jamison had announced at Friday's after school staff meeting that the money was going to help some of the families on welfare in our school. The list wasn't long, surprisingly, and I didn't bother glancing through it.

"Good morning class," I said in a syrupy singsong voice.

"Good morning, Miss Barry," the twenty-four students in my class murmured in unison.

"Did anyone bring in their money?" I asked, holding up the envelope.

Theresa, an outspoken girl with long black hair, raised her hand. "I brought in a dollar," she boasted, reaching her hand into her jeans and pulling out a crumpled dollar bill.

"Thank you very much, Theresa." To my delight, three other students followed Theresa's example, each skipping up to my desk and handing me a dollar. "Anyone else?"

Heads shook unanimously, so I got up and began to write the spelling lesson on the chalkboard.

"Miss Barry," a soft voice reached my ears as I was spelling the word _catch_. "Here's fifty cents."

I turned around to see Ryan, with his blond hair—had it gotten longer overnight? —hanging in his eyes. He was holding two dirty quarters, and I couldn't imagine _where_ he'd gotten them from.

"Thank you, Ryan," I beamed.

The next day, almost everyone in the class forgot their charity money—not to my surprise.

I said _almost_ everyone.

Ryan shyly made his way up to my desk again, this time plunking three quarters down on the faded wood surface.

"Thank you, Ryan," I smiled at him again, pleased that at least _one_ student seemed to be taking the fundraiser seriously.

During lunch I noticed Ryan eating his sandwich without a drink. All the other boys around him were greedily chugging their chocolate milk, while Ryan sat quietly munching on peanut butter.

"Aren't you thirsty, Ryan?" One of the boys, Ricky, took a long swig of his drink.

"Nah," Ryan replied. "Drinking milk is for babies anyway."

I saw the rest of the boys exchange nervous glances, trying—and failing—to discreetly push their cartons away. Ricky even got up and threw his carton in the trashcan. I smiled, amazed at how such the 'runt of the litter', if you will, somehow managed to be the top dog.

Wednesday was no different. Two girls, Minnie and Emily, and a tall, lanky boy, Michael, brought in a dollar each. Michael was on the other end of the spectrum from Ryan. He was tall, too tall for his age, and not the brightest crayon in the box. Still, he was a sweet boy who always offered to help me and the other students when reaching high shelves.

Again, Ryan was the last one to shuffle—a little less awkwardly—up to my desk and place his three quarters in the envelope.

And again, at lunch, Ryan and the rest of his posse ate their lunches without milk. I didn't notice the other boys sneaking off to buy milk from the cafeteria when Ryan got up to tidy up his desk. I _did_ notice him drinking voraciously from the slightly rusted water fountain in the hall when he thought nobody was looking.

Thursday, Ryan was the sole student of mine to bring in money. I noted that he was back down to two quarters. Not that I was complaining, of course. None of the students' families were particularly well to do, so any donation was a welcome donation.

During lunch I overheard Ryan asking Theresa for fifty cents to buy milk, and I wondered why he had donated fifty cents if he'd forgotten his milk money, but didn't think anything of it. My third graders were quite forgetful at times.

On Friday, I came in early to set up for the science experiment. As my students filed into the classroom, I counted them. One, two, three, four…twenty-three.

Sure enough, a certain shaggy-haired boy with intensely blue eyes was absent. My heart sank as I called out roll. I'd already called for the charity money, and to my dismay not one of the pupils had remembered.

I'd been counting on Ryan to bring in his money; seeing him walk up to my desk with a little more confidence every day had made my day.

Naturally, I was elated when Ryan moseyed into class twenty minutes before lunch. There was a fresh bruise on his arm and his lip was purple, slightly swollen. Since we were in the middle of the experiment, Ryan joined his classmates by the Bunsen burner.

After helping the students clean up for lunch, I prepared to put the materials from the experiment away. Ryan approached my desk, hand tightly clutching what I hoped was his last contribution to the fund. With more precision than a third grader should've had, Ryan opened the envelope and placed his single quarter in the plastic bag I'd placed in there for coins.

"My mom forgot to give me another quarter," he stated matter-of-factly, looking down at his Adidas shoes with the three faded black stripes.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "That's okay, Ryan. You've given more to the fund than anyone in the class, do you know that?"

Ryan nodded gradually, keeping his head down. I wasn't sure if it was because of his reluctance to make eye contact with adults or because he didn't want my eyes drawn to his busted lip.

"Did you bring milk money too?" I asked, remembering yesterday's lunchtime events.

Ryan shook his head again. He stole a glance at me, and I smiled reassuringly at him. "I can lend you the money if you need it."

"Nah," Ryan said, and for the first time all year he locked eyes with me. Two curiously bright blues stared hard at me. "That was gonna be my milk money," he admitted.

I opened the plastic bag and began to extract two quarters. I felt Ryan's small hand on my wrist. "Don't," he insisted. "I don't like milk _that_ much anyway."

My heart tore to pieces at Ryan's resolute assertion.

"If you're sure…" I replaced the bag in the envelope.

As I was packing up my bag after dismissal, I heard a soft, shy voice behind me. I turned around, and saw Ryan standing there, hunched over from the weight of his backpack.

"I forgot to tell you to have a good weekend," Ryan mumbled.

"Thank you, Ryan. You have a good weekend too," I was truly touched. None of my students had really gone out of their way to talk to me, or bid me goodbye.

"And…" Ryan paused, and seemed to bite his lip to hold back the words. "Thanks for caring."

I bent down so I was the same height as Ryan. "Anytime, sweetie," I told him.

He reached up—I was still a tad taller than Ryan, even on bended knee—and wrapped his short arms around my neck. My arms surrounded his body before my brain could process what I was doing. It was just a natural reaction to the sweet, unprecedented hug. I felt his body flinch at my touch.

The poor boy had probably been abused so much that he didn't know what kind of contact was non-threatening. I released my grip on Ryan and slowly stood back up.

"See you next week, Miss Barry," Ryan waved, offering me a small smile.

I sighed, shook my head, and headed to the weekly staff meeting.

It was then that I took a good look at the welfare list.

Shockingly, Ryan's name was number two on the list.

He hadn't the money to spare for the charity, let alone milk for lunch.

Truly touched by his unnecessary dedication, I shared the story of the fundraiser with Mr. Jamison and my colleagues.

They were almost as impressed and astounded as I was.


End file.
